Wolf Cub
by Cherry chain
Summary: Haytham travels to Kanatahséton after learning that it was attacked by the British army, concerned for the woman he once loved. Upon arrival he finds Ziio dead and a son he never knew he had. Suddenly thrust into the role of Father, Haytham must balance between his commitment to The Order and his new commitment to family. -On hiatus, explanation on profile-
1. Prologue: The Green Dragon

AN: Here goes nothing. An attempt by me to write something more ambitious than a semicanon oneshot. This is an AU where Haytham adopts Ratonhnhaké:ton after the fire. Not exactly original, but I hope you'll enjoy this anyways

I'll be writing and updating in arcs made of 2-3 short chapters each. Chapters in the same arc should be posted fairly close together, but I can't guarantee the wait times between arcs since University and life and the usual. The reason I'm doing this is to break down my usually long chapters into smaller readable chunks without writing any less content than I normally would. Treat each whole arc as the real chapter if you want.

I currently have ideas for about 3 arcs spanning the time between 1760 and 1769, but beyond that I'm still blank. If you have any ideas you don't mind sharing, I'd love to hear them!

**Acknowledgements:**

Heart of Paper, for convincing me (very insistently) to write this story, as well as giving excellent input with some great ideas

Demons Hiding, for being an awesome Beta and smashing me over the head with "TENSES!" whenever I slip into my bad habit of switching between past and present tense constantly. I'm still working on that!

And everyone who's reviewed/favourited my recent works. Knowing that there's people who like my work really helps me keep writing with confidence, so thank you all!

* * *

**Prologue  
**

The Green Dragon, 1760

The tavern was lively, slowly filling with patrons as the day came to an end and all manner of travellers came for food and drink. It was loud and rowdy, but it was a friendly kind of loud and rowdy. However, the jovial atmosphere seemed to simply stop at the staircase, where a large and rather intimidating man sat on the steps, discouraging anyone from going upstairs. On the second level, there were only six men around a table in private conversation.

"Explain yourselves."

There was no warmth in Haytham's voice as he pulled a note from his jacket and tossed it on the table. He glared at his fellow Templars sitting across from him in turn. There was a moment of shock, as they realized what that little piece of paper meant. The fact that they were shocked meant that Haytham wasn't supposed to know. He had been right. They _had_ been trying to keep this secret.

William seemed anxious, almost apologetic, while Charles simply refused to meet his eye. Pitcairn, Church, and Hickey all stared defiantly back at the Grand Master. Haytham could see his own failure in their reactions to his displeasure. His three year absence from North America had let his authority slip, and he had been able to do little in the last two years to remind these people why they ought to give him their respect. The injuries he had sustained from his little adventure in Europe had prevented him from doing much of what was needed to be done.

But they had taken it too far.

"I have told you to drop the matter of the First Civilization," he continued when none of the cowards would answer.

It wasn't that they had disobeyed his orders. He had simply pushed the First Civilization Site down his list of priorities, and he would not have objected to investigating any leads. The problem was that they had tried to keep it secret from him. There had to be a reason why. He needed to know what that reason was, and he needed to remind these people who was in charge.

"Master Kenway, please," Charles spoke, forcing himself to meet Haytham's eye. Charles had always been the most loyal to him, Haytham knew, and he saw that the man was conflicted. "We didn't want to trouble you. It seemed a small thing. We simply decided to see if we could convince the Indians to impart us with more information."

"With all due respect sir, I do not think you investigated the matter fully five years ago," Johnson piped in. "The woman showed you the room; surely the Kanien'kehá:ka would know more, things that she did not. We were hoping to find the Clan Mother. You yourself have said that whatever was in the Precursor Site is vastly important to our cause."

There was an attack on Haytham in Johnson's words. He had been playing this game too long to miss it. Johnson was accusing him of having been sloppy, of being too distracted with a native woman.

"I assure you; I looked into the matter as fully as possible. There is nothing more her people can tell us. Leave them be." Haytham pressed firmly. He saw a flash of guilt cross Johnson's face, though the others stayed passive. Something about that alarmed him, but he couldn't understand what.

"We're sorry for doubting you, sir. We just wanted to make sure." Pitcairn finally spoke up. The general was one who knew this game better than anyone else here, other than Haytham himself. He had offered an apology that pointed out the weakness of Haytham's argument, that they couldn't be faulted for being thorough. Not with something so important.

Haytham wasn't paying attention to that though, his thoughts still on Johnson. Had he maybe imagined that expression? None of the others had reacted. Reacted to what? "_Leave them be"_. Oh bloody hell.

"What did you do to them?" Out of those assembled here, Johnson was the only one who loved and respected the native people. He had been pushing for the Templars to buy the land for years, so that they could offer the natives protection from the Europeans who were ever expanding into their territory. That look of guilt on Johnson's face that did not appear on any of the others'…something must have happened to the people.

"_We_ didn't do nuthin' to nobody." Hickey spoke for the first time. Though he had been sourly and had spent the conversation so far glaring at Haytham, the grand Master knew that his defiance had less to do with the politics of the Templars, and more with the fact Haytham had forbidden anyone from disturbing their meeting- including whoever's serving the drinks. Hickey was a sharp, but simple, man.

"Thomas." Church hissed a warning, but Hickey simply grinned and pressed forward. He had always made it clear that he never cared about the petty squabblings of the Order's hierarchy, as long as he was paid.

"Guess the army has been getting tired of all them savages fightin' on the Frenchies' side. They burn'd the whole place down."

There was a strained silence as the news hit Haytham.

"Which village was this-" In his heart, he already knew. "-and what did you have to do with the attack?"

"That one a few miles North of Concord. And we ain't have nuthin' to do with the attack. Even managed to save a brat." Hickey replied with a grin.

"When we learned about the attack, we realized it might be our last chance to ask about the Precursor Site from the natives living in the valley. We didn't tell you because we thought you'd be too…emotionally involved. I'm afraid we did not make it to the village before the soldiers." Charles explained.

"And you did nothing to stop a massacre of innocents."

Everyone present knew that the village in the valley was neutral in the war. Ziio had been the only one from her tribe who had fought against the British. They had allowed the British army to burn down a village that had nothing to do with the fight.

The Templars glanced at each other.

"We…did not have much time. We barely made it to the valley in time." Pitcairn explained. It was just an excuse. The thought had likely not even crossed their minds, except maybe Johnson's. But more than just an excuse, Pitcairn's voice held an accusation. That Haytham was allowing sentiment to get the better of him.

They just don't get it. But there was little more that could still be said. None of them had openly acted wrong or against the Order. It was his own fault that they couldn't trust him. He's going to have to work on that, it seems.

But right now, there was a more pressing concern on his mind.

"Thank you gentlemen, for clearing that up. In the future though, please do inform me of something as important as a search for the precursor sight." He told them pleasantly as he stood up, but he kept his hands on the table, so that he was leaning forward over it. Then his voice dropped to a more dangerous tone. "I do not appreciate things being hidden behind my back. I am the Grand Master. Don't you ever dare forget that."

A few nods around the table, and he could see that some of them were reconsidering their defiance. Perhaps remembering that this man before them had built the Order around them from almost nothing. Haytham was not a man to be crossed lightly.

As Haytham turned towards the staircase to leave, someone put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. Haytham turned to see that it was Charles. The man had a look of concern on his face.

"Where are you going? It's late."

"I'm going to get supplies."

"Supplies?"

"I'm riding tomorrow morning. I have to see for myself."

_I have to know that Ziio is safe._


	2. Arc 1 pt1: A Home no longer

AN: I'm happy to see such a positive response to this fic already, even though I had only just posted the prologue haha**  
**

Anyways, a quick disclaimer that I'm very much ignorant of how Mohawk culture works but this arc takes place in a Mohawk settlement. So please excuse any mistakes I make. I've only done some very basic research

* * *

**Arc 1: A Home no longer  
**

1760, Kanien:Keh, 2 days later…

The forest was silent.

It was not the silence that Haytham knew six years ago, when he and Ziio had spent several blissful weeks together in these woods. Then it had been the silence of peace. This was the silence of death.

The forest floor was churned, trampled by dozens of horses and scores of men. A large force had moved through these woods, just like the others reported. The underbrush - young trees and small plants-were grounded by hooves and boots, almost indistinguishable from the dirt of the now much-widened trail. Haytham's horse easily cantered down it at a steady pace.

He grew more and more uneasy as his destination loomed closer. Usually so confident, he suddenly felt unsure. Why had he come? What did he hope to accomplish?

_I have to know._

He reflexively tugged on his horse's reins to stop when the village suddenly came into view. Haytham couldn't help himself but stare, dismayed. He had expected the sight, but it was not the same as seeing it for himself.

The entire place had been burned down. The tall walls that had once surrounded the village were blackened, fallen over like great corpses. The longhouses were gone, little more than piles of burnt wood.

He left his horse tied to a tree to allow it to graze, and made his way into what was left of the village on foot. He couldn't help himself; he found that he was drawn to the carnage even as he reeled in horror. It seemed so similar to the scene that had haunted his nightmares as a child, when his own home had burned and destroyed his family forever.

Though it had been a week since the attack, the peculiar acrid smell of burnt wood still lingered in the air. There was little colour, the scene dominated by blackened charcoal and lingering white ash. There was nothing left. The soldiers had been thorough.

_There's no bodies._

Haytham blinked at that realization as he stepped through what had once been an entryway into the village, now just a small patch of dirt between two collapsed sections of the wall. His eyes scanned the village, confirming his intuition. There were far too many who had lived here that there wouldn't be bodies visible. Those who did fall must have been taken away, and the soldiers sure as hell weren't the ones who thought the natives needed a good burial.

That could only mean…

_There are survivors._

Just as he came to that conclusion-

"Don't-move," a voice behind him said slowly, pausing between the two words, each syllable emphasized. Not a native English speaker then. It didn't take a genius to figure who must be speaking. No doubt an arrow was currently trained on his back.

Haytham resisted a stupid urge. If there anything he had always hated, it was having his authority challenged or undermined. He did not like to be threatened. He had acted rashly before in such circumstances and it hadn't always ended well. There was no reason to be hasty. He's not a stupid young man anymore.

Haytham brought his hands up to either side, showing that he had no weapons as he slowly, cautiously, turned around. As he had thought, a young man in his late teens stood behind him. He had a dark complexion with messy black hair and wore animal skins for his clothing. A Mohawk, and more importantly, was holding a drawn bow with the nocked arrow pointing straight at Haytham.

"Who-are-you?" Again, each word was said slowly, deliberately. Too bad these people couldn't all be as fluent as Ziio had been; listening to such broken English was difficult.

"A friend. I'm here to see-" Haytham replied, pausing briefly as he tried to dig into his memory for the right pronunciation. "-Kaniehtí:io"

He though that he got her name right. It was something he had been determined to learn when he was still with her.

Apparently he did get the name right, because the young man relaxed his bow slightly, surprise coming into his eyes.

"How-do-you-know- Kaniehtí:io?" The boy asked with suspicion. He pronounced the name rather differently than Haytham had. Oh. So he did screw it up. But at least the native had recognized it nonetheless.

"I worked with her once, to kill Braddock." He didn't think it was a good idea to mention much more than that. Ziio had broken their relationship on rather shaky terms after all- maybe she hadn't spoken well of him since then.

"I came to help however I can. If you'll care to search my horse, you'll see that I have brought medicine." He had come prepared of course; a gift would never hurt his chances.

The boy looked back over his shoulder, and somehow a second native, this one much older, seemed to simply appear out of the bushes, leading the mare Haytham had arrived on. He had likely already searched the saddles. The two had a quick exchange in their language, and the boy fully relaxed his bow, putting away the arrow. The man handed the horses's reins to the boy, who gestured to Haytham.

"Follow."

Haytham walked beside the boy as he led them into the forest, on a faint but visible trail that looked fresh. Either recently made or widened.

"Where are we going?" Haytham asked.

"To see the Clan Mother."

"I'm not looking for the Clan Mother, I'm looking for Ziio."

But the boy refused to speak further and Haytham decided that he didn't want to argue. Besides, he remembered now that Ziio's mother had been the Clan Mother six years ago. Would it still be the same woman now?

The survivors had set up camp not far from their village. As the forests began to thin, it gave away to a clearing by a lake, all under the shadow of great cliffs. Several temporary shelters made of animal skins were propped against the cliff face and between trees. Natives milled around the small encampment, tending wounded, drawing water, catching fish.

There were a lot more of them than Haytham had expected to find. Enough, perhaps, to rebuild their village. He felt a weight lift from his heart- just slightly. Maybe he could still hope.

The natives stopped what they were doing as Haytham and the boy walked past. Their expressions were not friendly –it was white men who had attacked them so recently, after all-, but the boy would reassured them with a word or two and they all got back to work. There was no time to waste, not with so much to do.

The boy led them towards a cooking fire, where four large logs had been propped around it in a square, each currently being used as benches.

Haytham's attention was immediately brought to an old woman who was sitting by the fire. She looked ancient, but Haytham knew that she must be much younger than she looked. Most of the natives were. Her hair was gray, and the lines on her face were pronounced from a lifetime of smiles and frowns. She wore her hair in the same manner Ziio had, in two long braids coming down the front, and Haytham couldn't help but see the resemblance.

He stood respectfully silent as the boy spoke with her, constantly glancing back at Haytham . It wasn't very difficult to guess the topic being discussed. After a few exchanges she rose to her feet, seeming to understand the situation.

Haytham gave her a quick bow, and then went straight to the point.

"I want to talk to Ziio."

The Clan Mother's face darkened and Haytham knew what was coming. His glimmer of hope died.

"Are you Haytham?" Her English was good, better than the boy's. Haytham hesitated for just a moment before nodding. The Clan Mother's voice wasn't hostile, and there wasn't much he could hide from Ziio's mother. Even though they had not met, what other white man would simply walk into their village and ask for Ziio?

"She has spoken well of you in the past. I'm afraid that Kaniehtí:io has…passed in the fire." There was a deep grief in the old woman's voice. Haytham felt his heart do a painful lurch at those words, despite having braced himself for the news the moment he learned of the attack. He had thought with how often she had been away from her village, that maybe she would have been absent when the soldiers arrived. He had hoped that she, of all people, would have made it out alive.

"I-I…see. I'm sorry for your loss." There wasn't much else he could say. He was done here, his business dealt with. He could not live with not knowing what might have happened to her so he had come. Now that he knew, well…he'll have to deal with the grief and move on. He could already feel himself shutting away his emotions, building the walls that he would need. She had been a distraction to him from his work. It was time to simply let go. It had been six years after all.

The Clan mother looked up at him and seemed to collect herself, as if whatever she was about to say was sensitive.

"You also came to see your son, correct?"

There was a silence as Haytham's mind stumbled over the words, unable to make sense of it. What did she mean by his…wait-

"My _what?_"


	3. Arc 1 pt2

"You did not know?"

The Clan mother looked surprised at Haytham's question.

"No. Please explain." Haytham's mind was still reeling. The news so unexpected he didn't know what to think.

"Kaniehtí:io returned to our village five years ago with child. She told me about you, and how the child was yours. I have not pushed further into the matter in order to make life easier for him. "

A son. He had a son. Ziio's son. In the past five years he had often thought about Ziio, of what could have been, but he had never considered that a child would have been born from their short time together. It just seemed too wild a possibility.

"How is he?" Haytham asked. From the Clan mother's words, it sounded like the boy was still alive, but he knew little more than that. Her eyebrows came together in worry at the question, and Haytham braced himself.

"He is... not well. After all that happened and with conditions as they are right now," she said as she swept her gaze across their shabby, temporary camp, "he has fallen ill. But he is young and strong. He will recover."

"May I see him?" The words came before Haytham had time to think it over. Did he really want to meet this boy? He had just lost Ziio. He knew nothing about this child. He hadn't even heard a name yet.

The Clan mother hesitated for a moment before nodding.

"Of course," she turned to speak to the boy who had led Haytham here. Looking annoyed but resigned, he gestured for Haytham to follow again and he did so. They stopped at a tent not too far away, a small shelter barely Haytham's height.

The boy opened the flap of the tent and stuck his head in, exchanged some muted words and then pulled the tent flap all the way back, gesturing to Haytham that he could enter. He nodded his thanks and ducked his head, crouching as he made his way inside as the tent wasn't tall enough for him to stand up in.

A woman sat next to a pile of furs, coaxing a spoon of what looked like thin stew into the protesting mouth of a young boy. Haytham froze when he locked eyes with the child. Ziio's eyes. Several emotions and thoughts flashed through him in quick succession, like running the pages of a book along your thumbs, seeing only brief glimpses of each page as it flashes by.

Grief: Ziio was gone. Really, truly gone. This boy was all that was left of her. Regret: They could have stayed together and raised this boy. He could have been a father these past years. Uneasiness: Could he afford to have a son in his life? What will the others think? And finally, the book came to rest at one particular thought: this boy was alone. Haytham of all people knew what it was like to lose one's home and family. How could this happen to one so young?

Then a more practical question: did the boy even speak English?

"Are you my father?"

So the boy that led him here had announced who Haytham was. That saved him having to reveal the awkward news himself. This child's English was slow and halting, but still quite good. Ziio must have taught him.

"Yes, I am."

The boy stared at Haytham intently with a slight frown but he quickly realized that the look was not from any kind of disapproval, as the child suddenly groaned and shut his eyes. Of course, he was ill.

A motion to the side caught Haytham's eye, and he noticed that the woman who had been taking care of Connor seemed uncomfortable.

_She doesn't speak English. She doesn't understand._

"I can take care of that." Haytham spoke slowly, gesturing to the bowl that she held. She nodded, seeming to understand the motion, and handed it to Haytham. She then very quickly made her way around him and left the tent. He noticed that her expression seemed quite relieved and she had not even asked the boy if he minded being left alone with this near-stranger. Nursing the sick child must not have been a job she volunteered for.

It suited him. He didn't really feel like doing this with the woman sitting awkwardly nearby anyways. With her gone he took a seat on the ground in her place, facing the boy who had leaned farther back into the pile of furs, inquisitive eyes trained on Haytham.

"What is your name?" Haytham asked the boy as he looked down into the half-finished bowl of stew he had been given. It was thin, and as far as Haytham could tell, mostly made of roots and other wild plants. Food must have been in short supply at the camp.

The boy gave him his name, and it went right over Haytham's head. He couldn't even begin to comprehend what it sounded like.

"Can you say it again, this time slower? I'm afraid I don't speak your language."

"Ra-doon-ha-gay-doon," the boy repeated, this time much more slowly, emphasizing each syllable. As Haytham thought, he brought a spoonful of the stew up to the boy's mouth. The boy grimaced but wordlessly accepted it.

"Would it be acceptable if I called you…" Ziio's English name had been an approximation of the last syllable of her name. So following the same logic…Doon…Gaydoon…Gaiden…

"…Aiden?"

The boy nodded. The next few minutes were spent in silence as Haytham helped Aiden down the rest of the stew until the bowl was finally empty. Haytham put it aside and leaned forward to tuck the boy more firmly into the furs. He paused at the contact, feeling for the first time how high the boy's temperature was. Aiden had a fever.

"How are you feeling?" He asked with some concern.

"Dizzy," the boy replied, looking away from Haytham.

"Then you should get some sleep."

As he straightened up though, Aiden removed one skinny arm from the furs and grabbed onto Haytham's wrist.

"Why were you not here?" The child asked, staring up at him expectantly.

Now that was a bit of a tricky question. Aiden was wondering why his father appeared now, of all times. After being absent all his life, why did he come just after when he was needed most, when there was nothing he could do anymore?

"Your mother left me bec-" he started to make an excuse, but was interrupted as the boy abruptly sat up, leaned over, and pulled himself tight against Haytham's clothing, almost as if he was trying to burrow in. Haytham blinked in surprise, then froze when Aiden's little frame began to shake. Oh dear lord, the kid was crying.

Unsure of what to do, Haytham wrapped his arms around the boy and awkwardly patted Aiden on the back. What was he supposed to say? _"It's all right"_? Because it wasn't all right. This child had just lost his mother.

He was suddenly so aware of how small and fragile the boy between his arms was.

xXxXxXxXx

Ratonhnhaké:ton asked the question he had waited his entire life to hear the answer to: _Why weren't you here?_ A question he had asked of Ista dozens of times.

And just like that, Ista came back sharp and clear in his mind.

_"You must be strong, Ratonhnhaké:ton. You must be brave. You will think yourself alone, but know that I will be at your side. Always and forever. I love you."_

The weak protective wall he had put up was torn down instantly, and the boy could not stop his tears. Ista was gone. Just, _gone_. And no matter how unfair it was and how desperately he wished her back there was nothing he could do. That feeling of helplessness and finality was crushing.

He did the only thing a small child in pain could do. Seeking comfort, some kind of protection against harsh realities, Ratonhnhaké:ton latched onto the man who had been absent all his life as he began to cry.

The man hesitated for a moment before enveloping Ratonhnhaké:ton with his arms. His hug was firm and strong, like Ista's. But he was still different. Ista's hug had been gentle, a word of freedom and peace. This man's hug…it was a fortress, surrounding him with strong, steady walls.

It felt…safe.

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AN: Ever since I realized that Achilles wouldn't be the one to name Ratonhnhaké:ton, I've been fighting with what to do. Do I just have Haytham coincidentally name him Connor as well? But that seems...eeh. But I can't just rename the main character.

So this is my solution. Don't think of Aiden as a new name, but just as an aproximate short form of Ratonhnhaké:ton

This chapter was hard to write because I didn't want it to be sappy yet at the same time there needs to be the beginnings of some kind of bond between these two. I hope I did that OK


	4. Arc 1 pt3

Aiden's sobbing slowly trailed off into quieter, irregular hiccups before finally being replaced by the slow rhythmic breathing of sleep. Haytham leaned over to grab the furs and pulled them up over the boy who was curled up on his lap.

He knew that he should leave, and that his reluctance to do so was foolish. Still, a part of him just did not want to disturb Aiden's sleep, and he found himself staying, just sitting there and watching his son.

His _son_. Maybe coming to see him was a bad idea. He had come because he had to see the boy for himself, to see this child who was the result of his love for Ziio. But he hadn't expected things to turn out like this. He hadn't expected the boy to cling to him and cry for his mother even as Haytham's own heart mourned for Ziio.

This boy reminded him too much of himself.

xXxXxXxXx

"What do you intend to do now?" the Clan mother asked across the fire later that night. The natives gave him a wide berth, leaving Haytham alone on the log on his side of the fire. They didn't like or trust him, but they tolerated his presence by the Clan Mother's goodwill.

Haytham thought about his answer in silence, looking away from the fire reflexively in an attempt to preserve his night vision.

"To be honest, I'm not sure. I should leave. Immediately." He had things to attend to. An Order to run. Templars to discipline. He couldn't waste any more time than he already had.

"You say that, yet you are still here. What is the conflict?" The Clan mother asked, and though Haytham could not see her across the fire, he could feel her gaze. So strong and always reserving judgement. Just like her daughter's.

_Aiden._

"I don't really know." Haytham was surprised to hear the boy's name come to his mind. Maybe he shouldn't be. He had spent hours taking care of Ziio's child. He was human after all, and it's difficult to ignore the pain of someone so young.

"I think you do."

Haytham couldn't help but chuckle. This woman read him like a book. So this was where Ziio got her intelligence from.

"Maybe I do," he conceded, "but what does it matter? There's nothing I can do for him."

He could hear the smile in the woman's response.

"You care. That is what he needs most."

"If I do, it's not for him. When I see him, I see Ziio. I did not even know he existed until today."

"Do you regret her passing?" the Clan Mother asked.

"Of course I-" he cut off himself angrily. Why was he even telling all this to the old woman? What was he even angry at?

"I am glad to hear that you loved my daughter. I had always feared that she had chosen wrongly."

Haytham felt his anger blow away like smoke dispersing in a strong wind. It had been sudden and fragile, and could not hold in the face of the Clan Mother's words, threaded as they were with grief. This woman had lost her child.

"Maybe she did. Maybe it had been a mistake." Haytham murmured.

"Do you really believe that? "

"I-"

"She spoke fondly of you, Haytham. Perhaps some of it had been to ease her life; people would not think well of her and her son if they believed Ratonhnhaké:ton's father to be an evil man. But she was an honest woman. She would not have lied about her true judgment of you."

"But she left me," he said, remembering the pain of their parting. That feeling of being judged, judged unworthy, and abandoned. That maybe Ziio was right to leave.

"Because she believed there was no room in your life for her."

_I neglected my duties for weeks to be with her. I could have made room. _If they had stayed together- then what? He had his Order. Maybe things could have worked out if she went to live with him, but Ziio would have never agreed to that. The city was not her home, would never be her home. It had been a topic he had breached before, and Ziio had made her answer very clear.

"Why are you talking to me about all this?" he asked, feeling suddenly so tired. What was the point of all these _what if_s? They didn't amount to anything.

"If you loved her, if the bond you shared with her was real, then you must value your son. He needs a father."

"You want me to take him away?" Haytham was incredulous.

"If that is his wish, though it is not what I meant. At least for now, he needs a parent. Would you be willing to stay with us a few days and help him through these hard times?"

It was already dark, so there was no point in leaving.

"I will stay the night, but I can't guarantee anything more."

xXxXxXxXx

Haytham was confused for a moment as he woke up, wondering why his back hurt and why he was so freezing cold. When he opened his eyes, he remembered where he was as he stared up at the roof of the tent. Right, he wasn't in the city anymore. He had just spent a night sleeping on the ground, which would explain his back and general soreness. Damp clung to the surface of the tent, as well as to his clothes and blankets, making it impossible to stay as warm as he would have been indoors.

It was still early. The light that filtered through gaps in the entrance was the monotone of a foggy morning, when the sun has yet to rise and burn it away. Something must have woken him-

Haytham blinked in surprise as he realized what that was. Aiden was sitting up in his cot next to Haytham, his thoughtful eyes resting on the older man.

"Go back to sleep, or your fever will get worse." Haytham grumbled, shutting his eyes. Right, they didn't have any extra empty shelters. Aiden's previous caretaker had moved out of this one for Haytham.

"Grandmother said that you are leaving soon."

Haytham opened his eyes at the words with some irritation. Why couldn't this wait until later? Sleep was something he found increasingly hard to come by and if there was anything good about his trip out here, it was that he could afford to sleep in a little.

Well, apparently not.

"Yes," he answered.

"Where are you leaving to?"

Inquisitive children could be really annoying to deal with.

"Boston."

"Is that a city?"

"Yes."

"Can I come with you?"

"I-" There was a confused pause before Haytham asked, "What did you say?"

"I want to come with you."

Haytham turned and propped himself up on his elbows so that he could look the boy in the eye.

"You have a home here."

"Not anymore."

Haytham saw the truth in the boy's expression. He knew what the boy meant. How could he not? He remembered leaving the husk of his burnt home with little hesitation. The location was the same, but that feeling of home, of a safe place, was gone. It became little more than a reminder of the loss.

"You won't belong, not where I'm going."

"I do not belong here either."

"Do your people not accept you?"

"They do. But…it is not the same."

He'll always be different. The half-breed. The one whose mother had gone against their village's stance in the war and had left to fight, then came back with a white man's son. Being accepted was different from belonging, if the acceptance was only tolerance.

"Why do you want to come?"

"I…" The boy hesitated, as if struggling to decide if he wanted to answer or not. "I need to find someone."

"Who?"

"The one who attacked us."

Haytham frowned. Revenge, huh? Most of his own young life had been spent tracking down the man who had destroyed his life. It was a purposeful, if damning, existence.

He realized now that he was seriously considering agreeing to the boy's request. The boy was quick and smart; Haytham could tell from the conversation they just had. He would fit well in the Order. The others would not approve initially, but they would accept Aiden in time.

Could he afford to add this to their list of reasons to doubt him? How much time would he have to set aside to look after his son? Was it fair to bring a child into a life such as his? If Aiden came with him, he would become a Templar one day. He would have to bloody his hands. It's not a decision a five-year-old could make. Haytham had to make it for him. Because he was a father.

"It will be hard for you."

"I know."

This boy sounded years older than he was. He seemed so different from the frail, defenseless little child Haytham had held in his arms just the day before.

"How are you feeling right now?"

"Not dizzy."

Haytham put the back of his hand up against the boy's forehead. It wasn't hot anymore.

"Then I'm leaving today. If you are coming with me, start packing."

xXxXxXxXx

"You're leaving?" Kanen'tó:kon asked, wide-eyed. Ratonhnhaké:ton nodded and the other boy shook his head.

"You can't." Tears were coming to boy's eyes, though he blinked to fight them down.

"No, listen to me." Ratonhnhaké:ton put a hand on his best friend's shoulder reassuringly. He understood. The other boy had also lost almost everything this past week. He didn't want to lose his friend as well.

"I can always come back. I won't be gone forever. But I need to go to the city. The men who attacked us- I can find them."

Kanen'tó:kon took a deep breath to steady himself, and quickly wiped his eyes with one sleeve.

"When are you leaving?" Kanen'tó:kon finally asked.

"When my father comes back."

Raké:ni had everything packed already. The only thing that stopped him from leaving immediately that morning was his request to visit Ista.

xXxXxXxXx

"Thank you," Haytham told the native who brought him to the burial grounds. The man did not respond, simply turned and left though Haytham knew he would not go far. The native did not trust him, and would likely be watching from a distance to make sure this white man did not dishonour their dead in some way.

Haytham pushed the man out of his mind as he looked down at the small mound before him. After such a big tragedy, the natives still did their best to give every one of their dead a proper burial, and for that he was thankful. Ziio deserved as much.

He removed his hat out of respect and held it over his heart.

"Did you leave me because of him?" he asked softly. "Was it because you knew the kind of life I would bring our child into? Or did you leave because of me?"

Of course there was no answer. The nagging doubt that had been eating away him these past years, the question of why she had decided to part ways with him, would always remain unanswered.

"Regardless, you can't disapprove of this, can you? Whatever you might have thought of me, I can take care of him. It will be hard, but he has your blood, and mine. He'll do well."

It felt odd, to be speaking out loud to someone who was not here, but her people believed in spirits. Maybe she'd hear his words somehow. And though he found it difficult to get the words past his throat, when he did it was like a weight was being lifted off his shoulders.

He took a deep breath and kept going, doing his best to keep his voice steady and strong.

"A friend of mine once told me that your people buried warriors with their weapons." Haytham slipped his hand down to his sword, drawing it slowly. He stepped forward and laid it carefully down on the burial mound, a bright silver sliver against the freshly turned earth.

"Your fight is over, Ziio. Rest in peace."

He doubted that her people would have given her a warrior's burial like she deserved. Ziio alone left her home to fight while the rest of them stayed hidden in their village. This was the best he could do to honour her.

xXxXxXxXx

As Haytham prepared his mare for the journey to Concord, a small gathering of natives collected around him, some to say goodbye to Aiden, but mostly just curious. He tried his best to ignore them as he checked that the saddles were properly tightened and that he hadn't left anything of importance behind.

"Are you ready to go?" Haytham asked, turning around just in time to see the Clan Mother handing something to Aiden. The boy accepted it wordlessly. The Clan mother said something in their language and the boy nodded in response before turning back towards Haytham. One arm came up, quickly wiping the tears off his determined face as he walked towards the horse.

"I am ready."

Haytham's eyes were drawn to the boy's hand, clutching something to his chest. A necklace. He felt his breath catch in his throat. He recognized it of course- how could he not? It had several layers of long white beads under a piece of bone engraved with a turtle. It had been Ziio's.

He didn't say anything about it though as he picked Aiden up and helped the boy settle into the front of the saddle. Then he climbed up himself, settling comfortably behind the boy.

"Ó:nen ki' wáhi!" Aiden called back to the few natives gathered, and Haytham gently dug his heel into the mare's side, sending them into a gentle trot down the trail towards a new life.

* * *

AN: I'm glad to see that most people are fine with the name Aiden, it was something I was really unsure about ^^ Thank you all so much for the positive feedback, it really makes my day!

This is the end of the first arc. I'll start writing the next arc soon, but I need to solidify my ideas for it first so I can't guarentee when it'll be finished. Thanks for reading!

Terminology: Raké:ni means Father. Ó:nen ki' wáhi means Goodbye. And Ista means Mother though I think most people in this fandom is aware of the last one


	5. Arc 2 pt1: An enemy

**Arc 2: An enemy**

1760 Boston, 3 days later

When the walls of Boston came into view, Haytham urged his horse to go just a little faster. After a week in the inns of small settlements or camping out in the wilds, thoughts of the comforts of home were welcoming. It would be nice to get some real food at last, not mention finally being able to get off the horse. They had been riding for hours today, as they have every day since leaving Kanatahséton. He was sore, and his arms were tiring of holding a sleeping Aiden to prevent the boy from falling out of the saddle. It had been an exhausting journey.

As they entered the city limits and the road began to fill with horses and wagons and people, the noise began to stir Aiden from his slumber. He shifted in Haytham's arm slightly before opening his eyes, yawning widely.

"Are we here?" The boy asked sleepily, scanning his surroundings curiously. They were still on the outskirts of the city, passing by farmland, but it was beginning to give way to denser buildings and more people.

"Yes. Welcome to Boston."

The boy perked up at this, sitting up straight to get a better look at the sights around him. Haytham wondered what the boy thought of being here in such a large city. They had passed through Concord and Lexington on the way here, and even in those small settlements the boy had expressed his surprise and wonder at the features of civilization. Like stone houses. It was amazing how simple things Haytham took for granted every day seemed like a miracle to the young child.

Aiden gawked quietly as they made their way through streets that became steadily busier and more crowded. Haytham knew that the questions will come eventually though, as they had after leaving Lexington. The boy preferred to stay silent and observe before commenting or asking anything. This suited him for now, as he was more focused on getting home as fast as he could without running anyone over.

They arrived at the stables and Haytham left his horse there.

"Stay close to me." He told Aiden as he walked back out onto the street on foot. The boy obliged, following behind him closely while turning inquisitive eyes to all the sounds and sights of the city around him. There were a few stares turned their way –more precisely, _Aiden's_ way- but Haytham did his best to ignore it for now. He'll never be able to get the boy to blend in fully, but getting him out of animal skins and into some normal clothing will help quite a bit. He'll have to take the boy to a tailors' as soon as he could.

Haytham's dwelling in Boston was a small, two-story house in the central district, not too far from the Green Dragon Tavern. He had bought the building a year ago from a couple in the Order, having gotten tired of spending all his nights at inns or Templar safe houses. He has yet to regret the decision, though he knew that he will have to move eventually. Having one permanent location of residence was a good way to be tracked and spied on.

Things are always difficult with Assassins skulking around.

He fumbled with the keys for a bit –his hands were stiff from holding the reins for hours- before opening the door and letting the two of them in. It was just like he had left it a week ago, except perhaps with an extra thin layer of dust on surfaces that had been previously clean. It was quiet, the welcoming peaceful quiet of home. It was good to be back.

"Do you live here alone?" Aiden asked, looking around at the empty, silent house.

"Yes. I have a guest room upstairs you can use. I will have to clean it out, but it's serviceable for now." Haytham replied idly, fumbling at the clasps of his cape. He got it off and hung it on the rack by the door, which was soon followed by his hat and coat.

"Do you not have any family?"

Of all the questions to ask, what was making the boy- ah.

"I do." It was the truth, mostly. His half-sister Jenny was still alive after all. "They're back in England. We don't live in large family units like your people. At least, not all of us."

He was just about to head up the stairs to start working on the guest room when there was a loud knock at the front door.

He hasn't been back even an hour yet, so who on earth would be looking for him already? Irritated, –he just wanted get things dealt with quickly so he can finally get some rest, was that too much to ask for?- he turned around to answer the door. He found that he wasn't nearly as surprised as he should be when he found Charles standing in the doorway.

"Master Kenway, you're home!"

He wasn't in the mood for this. He had still not figured out the best way to introduce Aiden to the other Templars. It was a delicate matter and required some careful planning.

"Charles, I just got back. Whatever this is, can it wait until tomorrow?"

The other man hesitated for a moment before ducking his head.

"I'm sorry. I heard from Catherine that you were back, so I thought I'd come and make sure you were fine."

Oh. It suddenly made sense to Haytham now. He sighed and did his best to put on a smile.

"I found out what I needed to," he told his fellow Templar. Something came into Charle's expression then. Pity? Haytham felt a twinge of annoyance at that but hid it. The man meant well.

"Do you mind if I come in?"

Haytham realized he'd need to be a bit more direct.

"I think I'd like to be alone for a while," he told the man bluntly.

"Ah, I'm so sorry," Charles murmured, the tone of his voice making it clear that he understood. Haytham's love was dead. He knew that it would make him seem weak; the others would see a man who had been infatuated with a native woman and was letting his grief get in the way of the Order. But right now he was tired and weary from his long journey and the longer he stayed here, the more likely Aiden will get curious and come looking.

"It's quite all right. Now if you'll excuse me-" Haytham froze reflexively when he saw Charles tense, a hand going down to his pistol. Haytham knew to trust the instincts of the Templars he trained himself, Charles included.

"What is it?" Haytham asked, the muscles on his left wrist tensing, itching to release his blade.

"I thought I saw someone behind you." Charles replied quietly, his eyes scanning the shadowed hallway. Haytham relaxed at that. It must be Aiden.

"Don't worry, I have a guest over."

Charles didn't relax, though confusion flicked across his face.

"A guest? Who-" his words died in his mouth as his eyes opened wide in shock.

Haytham heard a gasp behind him. Damn. So much for keeping his son secret for a while. He turned back to see Aiden standing in the hallway and immediately he saw that something was wrong. The boy's eyes were wide, and they stared right past Haytham to Charles. There was recognition on his face, mingled with fear and something else. Rage? Disappointment?

Before he could ask just what the bloody hell was going on, Aiden yelled something in his own language and dashed through the open door, shoving Charles aside.

"Aiden!"

Haytham dashed out after the boy with a curse.

xXxXxXxXx

Ratonhnhaké:ton didn't know what to do, except that he had to get out of here. The man at the door; it was Charles Lee. The man who burned his village down. Who killed Ista.

And Raké:ni –no, not his father. A traitor, a liar- had been talking to that monster. As if they were friends.

He had to leave, had to get back home. He should have never trusted Haytham. They knew where everyone was! That there were survivors! What if they brought the soldiers back?

He rounded a corner sharply and ran into a woman. The impact sent him flying sideways but he kept his footing. Ignoring the woman's screams as she fell, Ratonhnhaké:ton kept running down the middle of the road. The stables. Where were the stables they had left their horse? He had to warn his people. He had to tell Akshótha.

There was a yell in front of him and Ratonhnhaké:ton snapped his attention back from where he was scanning the side of the road to the road itself. A wagon was coming at him, and its driver was screaming angrily for him to get away.

The horses were huge, easily twice his height; and they were coming right for him. The ground shook from the force of their hooves striking stone, and one gave a loud, intimidating grunt. Ratonhnhaké:ton skidded to a stop, heart seizing in terror, his eyes glued on the great beasts. He knew he should move, do anything, but his muscles refused to answer the commands his brain screamed.

He yelped as he felt something latch onto the back of his belt, and he flailed his arms wildly as he was dragged sideways, out of the path of the cart. He scraped his arm as he landed roughly on the cobblestone, bringing tears to his eyes. His breath was knocked out of him and for a panicked moment, he couldn't inhale. His heart pounded in his chest from the exertion of his run, accelerated by his near miss with the horses.

"Watch where you're going you filthy little rat!" the cart's driver yelled angrily as he rode by.

Ratonhnhaké:ton struggled onto his feet, but someone grabbed him by his upper arm and pulled him up to a standing position. He found himself in the shadow of a rather irate-looking Haytham.

"Let me go!" the boy demanded, tugging at his arm stubbornly.

"What has gotten into you?" Haytham snapped. Ratonhnhaké:ton saw the anger and concern in the man's face, and felt his resistance shrivel under that gaze. He stopped struggling.

"You were with Charles Lee." Ratonhnhaké:ton murmured, looking away.

"And how do you know his name-" Haytham cut himself off with a quiet curse.

"Aiden, did you meet Lee near your village?" he asked the boy and Ratonhnhaké:ton nodded, feeling anger and fear flare up inside him at the mention of Charles.

"I thought so. Aiden, whatever you might think, he was not responsible for what happened to your village. Will you come back to the house with me and let me explain?"

Ratonhnhaké:ton hesitated at the possibility. Charles and his cohorts had been at his village only hours before the attack, threatening Ratonhnhaké:ton before knocking him out. How could it have _not_ been them?

"Aiden, please."

Ratonhnhaké:ton grimaced, but reluctantly agreed.

"Okay."

* * *

AN: Haha, this was suppose to be a short standalone chapter but then things happened that I didn't plan and it got a lot longer so I split it in two. I wrote most of these two chapters really early morning (at some point past 2am) so I thank my two betas profusely for helping me fix some rather horrendous writing haha

A correction to the previous chapter: I recently found Ziio's grave ingame. It's a very large mound with white flowers growing on it where their longhouse used to be, at the back of the village. From the size of it, it seems to be a mass grave, unlike the individual graves I implied in the last chapter. Which would make sense I guess, because when everything had so recently gone to hell, you just can't spare the kind of time and manpower you need to individually bury everyone. I don't think I'll actually fix my chapter, because I don't think the impact would be the same, but I thought people would like to know.

Terminology: Akshótha means Grandmother


	6. Arc 2 pt2

Haytham sighed in relief as the boy nodded and he loosened his grip now that there was less danger of Aiden bolting. There were people gathering and Haytham wanted to get back home and away from prying eyes as fast as he could. He had left his coat and cape back in the house, and hardly felt presentable out here in nothing but his shirt.

He held Aiden's hand as he led the boy back towards the house, eyeing the deep scrapes down the boy's arm covered in sand and dirt. He sighed inwardly as he added tending the boy's injuries to the growing list of things he had to do.

When they got back to the house Charles stood awkwardly at the entrance, not able to go in without permission but also not willing to leave. When he spotted Haytham returning with Aiden, the man's face darkened.

"Sir, may I ask who this-"

"Get inside," Haytham grumbled, pushing the door open and walked in past the other Templar. The two followed him in, though Aiden seemed to be trying to keep Haytham between himself and Charles.

"Charles, do you mind waiting for me in my study? I'll be right there." He told the other Templar as he locked the door. Charles did not seem very happy about this, but obliged. Haytham took Aiden to the kitchen, where he sat the boy down on a stool and began rummaging through his medicine cabinet.

"This might sting a bit but it will help," he told the boy as he came back with a bottle of ethanol and clean linen. Aiden eyed Haytham suspiciously as he dabbed some of the clear liquid onto the cloth, but did not move away when the man brought it up to clean the wounds on his arm. He flinched at the pain when contact was made, but gritted his teeth through it.

"Aiden, I need you to tell me what happened when you met Charles," Haytham asked, his voice quiet so that it wouldn't travel. He didn't think Charles would eavesdrop, but it was best to be safe. Aiden frowned, as he considered the question.

"I was in the forest with my friends," he finally began. "Men attacked me. One of them was Charles Lee. He asked for my village and wanted to hurt us. I did not tell them anything. They hit me and I…" the boy struggled for the right word in English, "…I fell asleep. "

"He knocked you out?" Haytham asked with a frown, sitting back as he finished cleaning the scrapes on the young boy's arm. Aiden nodded in response.

Haytham couldn't help but feel disappointment at the actions of his fellow Templars. There were better ways of gaining information from a child than threats.

"When I woke up there was smoke. Everything was burning." The boy closed his eyes, as if trying to hide from the images those words must have conjured. Haytham placed his hands on Aiden's shoulders and the boy tensed, but did not react otherwise.

"What he did was wrong; he should not have attacked you. But he had no intention of harming your people. They were there to ask your elders for advice-"

"He's lying to you." Aiden cut him off viciously, opening his eyes again. Haytham could see the fire, the purpose, in those eyes. He had a sudden unsettling feeling of looking at a mirror. "He said he hates us."

Aiden's tone made it very clear that he was frustrated with the limitations of his vocabulary. There was more he wanted to say- and didn't know how to say it. Haytham squeezed his shoulder, assuring the boy that he understood.

"I will go speak with him. Can you wait here?"

Aiden shook his head.

"No."

"Why?"

Something else came into the boy's eyes: uncertainty.

"Because you might believe him."

Haytham sighed. This was going to be harder than he thought.

"You're going to have to trust me on this one."

He got up and could feel Aiden's stare boring into his back as he left the room and headed for his study. Charles stood from where he was seated when Haytham walked in.

"Charles, I need to make sure this is clear. Were you involved in the attack on the village at all?" Haytham asked, putting a hand on the other Templar's shoulder to push him back down into his chair. There was a very different feeling between standing with a man eye-to-eye, and having him tower over you. Haytham needed to make sure Charles remembers who's in charge here.

"No sir. We had nothing to do with it, I swear it." Charles replied immediately, and Haytham didn't think it was a lie.

First day back after bringing his son home and he was already beginning to regret the choice. He hadn't expected this development.

"You certainly made the boy believe so. What were you thinking, attacking a child? That's hardly a way to endear yourself to the people you were supposed to be procuring information from," Haytham said with disapproval.

"We had no time. The army could have arrived at any minute and we didn't know where the village was. Maybe I was a bit rough with him-"

"Rough? You knocked out a five-year-old!" Haytham snapped.

"That wasn't my fault, Johnson did that," Charles replied evenly. "I thought we could hide and follow the child to his village, but Johnson obviously wasn't thinking."

"Why would Johnson…?" he prompted with confusion, allowing the sentence to trail unfinished into a question. Johnson seemed the least likely out of the group to attack a native child.

Charles shrugged.

"He said he wanted to save the boy, so that he wouldn't be at the village when the army arrives. Apparently it worked, seeing as he's still alive."

Haytham frowned at the logic. Noble intention perhaps, but it was not the right way to go about it.

"Would you mind apologizing to the boy?" Haytham asked. In the end, it seems to be Charles whom the boy was fixated upon after all. If Haytham was lucky, he might be able to settle this right now.

Charles bristled with indignation.

"I will not!"

"Charles, please. I wish to bring him into the Order one day. I need the boy to put this behind him."

Charles stared at Haytham suspiciously.

"Just who is this child?"

There was no point hiding it at this point. Charles has likely figured it out, and it was better to get the facts straight rather than letting the man spread vague rumours through the Order.

"His name is Aiden, and he is my son."

Charles rose to his feet.

"I see," he replied bitterly, "and so you have decided already to let him in the Order, without first testing his loyalty, his abilities?"

"I have decided nothing of the sort, but it is likely. I will be training him myself," Haytham responded defensively, unsure of what Charles was implying. It was not unusual to groom one's child in order to serve the Order one day, after all.

"Then I wish you luck in taming that little beast." Charles growled, and turned to leave. "When you are ready to return to your duties, you can pick up all the documents you missed during your little trip from the usual location. Good day."

The man stormed out of the room and down the hallway to the door.

"Charles!" Haytham resisted the urge to go after the man, but he did not want to be heard arguing with the Templar while within earshot of Aiden. The boy needed to know that Haytham trusted Charles and the others, or he would never come to accept them.

Charles slammed the door behind him as he left and Haytham sighed, following to lock the door before returning to the kitchen.

Aiden was exactly where he had left the boy, sitting on the stool with his legs drawn up, his chin resting on his knees.

"Aiden, Charles Lee didn't burn your village down. This I swear." Haytham told the boy, taking a seat in a chair next to him.

"But he was there."

"I know." Haytham sighed. "But he was not with the soldiers."

Aiden was refusing to meet his eye.

"Why did the soldiers come?"

"Because there is a war right now, and some of your people are fighting against the British."

"No we are not!" Aiden blurted out, looking up angrily. "We were never to leave the valley. Nobody ever left to fight."

"Your mother did." Haytham replied quietly and Aiden paused at that.

"Even if there were none from your tribe, there were other tribes who fought and still fight." Maybe this was getting a bit too complicated. How do you explain these concepts to a five year old? That to the Europeans, they could hardly tell one tribe apart from another?

"Aiden, do you trust me?"

"Can I?" The boy looked back to Haytham with a frown. It seems like this relationship will take some time. Whatever bond he had managed to forge with Aiden had been shaken by Charles' presence.

"Yes, you can. I promise you that I will find out exactly what happened, but it will take time. Can you be patient?"

A pause as the boy considered it.

"Yes,"

xXxXxXxXx

The rest of the day flew by in a busy blur. He ordered some food from the Green Dragon for dinner, got Aiden familiar with the house, and then left to take care of business. The run-in with Charles convinced Haytham that putting off Templar work was not the best way to keep everyone's confidence so he retrieved all the messages and reports that had built up over the last week and took on the task of sorting and reading through them all.

After sending out what orders were needed now that he was caught up, Haytham found himself investigating the disappearance of one of their important contacts with Thomas Hickey. By the time he found the body, the marks of an Assassin's blade on his throat and the documents he was supposed to be carrying missing, it was well past midnight.

So when he finally got home at some god-awful hour in the morning, wanting nothing more than to just collapse into bed and sleep through the next week, he realized something he had overlooked. He had never gotten around to clearing out the guest room, thinking that he'd be home to do so before it got dark. The room had never been inhabited since he bought the house and Haytham had been using it as a kind of storage room over the months. Without the kind of time he needed to regularly clean up, the room had begun to slowly turn into a mess of piles of books and loose paper. Including a mountain of documents on the bed.

Quietly making his way upstairs, Haytham checked the guest room –nope, it was empty, as he expected- before heading to his own bedroom. When it had gotten dark and the boy was tired, he had taken the only available bed in the house- Haytham's. Aiden was sprawled over his bed, the blanket half-covering him and half dragging on the floor.

Silently he disarmed himself in the darkness, knowing his room and his weapons well enough that he didn't need any light to do so. Too tired to put everything in their rightful places, Haytham left his sword, pistol, bracer, as well as their respective sheathes and straps on his table, and threw his coat over it all before going over to the bed.

He picked Aiden up gently, pulling the boy to the edge of the bed. Aiden grumbled sleepily in complaint, but showed no further signs of waking. Walking over to the other, now freed, side of the bed, Haytham collapsed onto it, kicked his boots off and stayed awake just long enough to pull his own half of the blankets up over himself.

Today was a _really_ long day.

* * *

AN: Ok this story has very quickly gathered a higher following than I have ever had before or expected. I won't deny that it's getting me a bit nervous but I'll try not to think about it when I'm writing haha. Anyways, this is the end of the second arc. Midterms are coming up and I foresee the next arc being a long one, so the next update might take a bit, sorry!

I did some quick research on Charles Lee to figure out why he might have hated on the natives so much. Turns out that he was very friendly with the Mohawk, was adopted into one of the tribes, and took a chief's daughter as his wife. He was also up in Canada capturing Montreal during the time he was supposed to be at Connor's village. What the hell Ubisoft.

So, uh, I'm going to follow Ubisoft's lead and throw history out the window. Nobody can say I didn't try though.


End file.
